


Chocobo Down

by SpitfireRose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Being Prompto is suffering, Blood and Injury, Chocobos, Chocobros - Freeform, Not a lot though, Prompto Proves Himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: It was meant to be a simple Hunt, Chocobros partnered off in order to deal with the split swarm of Killer Wasps. Prompto soon finds them in far more trouble than they bargained for, but is as determined as ever to prove himself--even at the cost of his own health.





	Chocobo Down

**Author's Note:**

> This written work is based off the incredibly talented kaciart's piece on Tumblr, which can be found here http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/163609887568
> 
> 'Ferrum' translates to 'Blade/Iron', and 'Mico' means 'Flash', rather fitting for our Shield and Photographer.

“Between you and me, I’ve got the better bird.”

“Oh yeah? And why is Mico best bird?”

“ _Ferrum_ ,” Gladio corrects, amusement in his rumble of a voice at the gunner’s failed ruse. “Is far stronger and could eat that puny chickatrice of yours for breakfast.”

“You’ve only got the stronger chocobo to carry those muscles, big guy. And besides, strength isn’t everything, y’know? Mico is quick as a flash, and has skills where it counts, don’t you, girl?”

“Right, such as preening that chocobutt hair like you’re her baby?”

“My hair does not look like a chocobo butt!” Prompto squawks rather loudly in offense and Mico pauses to crane her neck to face her rider, beak making way towards the pale strands deflated from the chilling rain. “Mimi, no,  _come on–_ ”

“I’ll give you two privacy.” Gladio snorts, and Prompto barely starts up whining about being abandoned before the swordsman tenses, blood red chocobo mount letting out a low warning noise with talon scraping earth.

The Shield presses a finger to his lips and Prompto silences himself immediately, following Gladio’s signal that their targets are in sight. The steady downpour has drastically muted the dull drone of the giant insects’ wings, swarm of Killer Wasps sticking close to the thicket of trees and shelter of the steep cliffside. Sharp blue eyes pinpoint how many of the creepy crawlies there are, nearly matching their estimate of the split hive. Though there’s more of the bugs than anticipated, it’s a relief that things’ll be easier on their companions’ end, at least.

“You stay here, Mi.” Prompto murmurs as they dismount at a safe distance. Mico ‘kweh’s softly, dark gold plumage tickling his cheek as he hugs her outstretched neck, inhaling the heightened smell of wet chocobo. It’s not the greatest scent, but calming nonetheless. “There’s my good girl. Stay out of trouble, and keep Ferrum in line, alright?”

“Ferrum’ll keep her safe.” Either a jab from earlier, or Gladio’s way of being sincere, it’s hard to determine as Prompto releases her with a final reassuring pat on her beak. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

It’s simple work. Gladio fights the monsters head-on as usual, blade swinging and shield shielding, tanking the beasts like an impossibly rare hero in King’s Knight. Prompto plays the role of support like always, more than content to stay out of stinging range and as far from the nasty things as possible. The rain’s on their side despite being a hindrance to hair and visibility, making their foes’ movements sluggish in flight and easier to pick off.

It’s almost too simple, going too smoothly regardless of how optimistic Prompto wants to be. He swears he picks up the sounds of chocobos in distress over the battle, heart skipping a beat as he whips around towards where they’ve got the birds farther down along the rise of earth. There’s hardly a second to dwell on it before a deafening boom rattles him to the core, rock slamming against rock.

The cliff is crumbling, and Gladiolus is right beneath it.

Prompto screams.

It’s as if everything is in slow motion, and Prompto is frozen into place like one of Noct’s misguided blizzard spells. A slew of stone snaps off the upper edge, breaking off into dozens of deadly pieces with each crushing collision against the cliff face down onto the combatants below. The blond thinks he’s shrieking out warnings to get away through the buzzing white noise, but everything’s so damn slow and  _why can’t he move godsdamn it–_

Oh.

The stinger of a Killer Wasp protruding out of his left side might be why, glistening with a sickening combination of blood and poison.

He blinks slowly, pain finally registering and whiplashing time back into place as gravity drops him onto his knees, head twisting around to get a glimpse of the overgrown insect as his brain sluggishly thinks of what the hell he’s going to do.

His peripherals catch burning gold instead of hard black and yellow, stinger yanked out of him as well as the rest of monster, snatched out of the air with a mighty screech. Unforgiving talons rip the attacker to shreds, beak snapping and wings swooping as it’s slain, corpse unidentifiable. Praise is slurred out of him, right hand plastered against the wound as he gets one unsteady foot beneath him.

_Shit, Gladio!_  The reminder hits him as eyes catch on the chaotic aftermath. It’s a cruel twist of the Six that the Shield is easy to spot, fallen form surrounded by a pair of opportune wasps. His aim is shaky at best with his off-hand, biting his lower lip and willing himself to stay steady as the shots ricochet through his body, making their mark. Prompto doesn’t have to say anything as Mico nudges at his left arm before ducking underneath as support to get up the rest the way. Dizziness greets him once back on his feet, threatening to take him back down as he hobbles over to Gladio, praying to every Astral that exists that the big guy isn’t dead.

He’s still breathing, but they’ve got no potions on them for what was meant to be an easy Hunt. The unnecessary trouble of it all drives Prompto to collect the stingers as proof the job is done, shoving them in his jacket’s pocket before having the sense to assess the situation like Ignis would.

Ferrum’s nowhere in sight, likely spooked away by the landside, and Noct has their only whistle. Of course the reception in the area is out like Gladio, and it’s still raining.

His side is killing him, but he’ll worry about that later. Right now, he’s gotta get them somewhere safe–he’s the only hope they’ve got, serious flesh wound or not.

“S’okay, Mico.” Prompto exhales when the chocobo makes a worrying noise at him suddenly kneeling before Gladio with little to no grace, more of a drop to his aching knees.

The worst of what he can see are just open cuts from where the rocks clipped him, a particularly nasty bump hidden beneath the wild mane that’s going to be a hell of a headache if- _-when_  he wakes up. Mico mimics his actions, settling down at the Shield’s other side with a gentle chirp, gazing into her rider’s uncertain eyes. She means to carry the unconscious man, and Prompto could not love her any more as he takes another deep breath.

He’s spoiling her after this and for the rest of his life as he manages to roll Gladio upon her back, assisted by her pulling at his collar like a mother cat to kittens. The task winds him more than it should, swaying to stand at her other side with a death grip at the reins.

Now to walk. Easy. He can do that, just one foot in front of the other until…until he finds some shelter.

* * *

“Good bird. Good, good girl, Mimi.” Prompto praises her with a tremble in his voice that’s gotten weaker over the past twenty minutes, shakily stroking the dark honey feathers. Mico ‘kweh’s softly in response, ducking her neck to nudge her beak beneath his palm. “That’s my sweet girl. Gla–Gladio’s gonna owe you bi–big time.”

He’s getting her a lifetime supply of sylkis greens once this is over, and Gladio’s gonna pay for all of it.

The swordsman in question says nothing, slumped across the bird’s back like cargo. Quiet and eerily still, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest as the only indication of life. The nasty gash on his forehead still bleeds crimson on golden sunrise, but it’s starting to scab over. It’s looking better, whereas he knows his injury must be looking worse–no thanks to the aimless wandering around–, but he’s not going to strain Mico. She’s doing a great job at just being able to carry the big guy, he’s not about to have her give him a ride as well. He can keep walking, he can,  _he can._

Prompto stumbles yet again, accidentally tugging at the reins wrapped tightly around his left wrist. Mico lets out a pained squawk at the sudden downward jerk, more concerned for the boy as he catches himself from completely falling over, mumbling endless apologies that sound more like gibberish. His side  _burns_ , hot to the touch as he once again presses his hand against the bloody mess. He’s scared to look, though his vision’s been getting worse as Mico nudges him away from almost walking into the tenth tree in the past couple minutes.

“Just gon’…rest ‘ere.” The gunner decides on impulse, heavily supporting himself against the firm trunk before slowly,  _slowly_  inching himself down onto the damp forest floor. The bark digs into his back, roots hard beneath him, and wet grass staining his outfit–but in his feverish state, none of it matters. Mico lays close, great feathered head within scratching distance and he buries a hand in the sunflower shades. Soft, warm, welcoming–Prompto would give anything to just sleep in the chocobo comfort.

_‘Kweh!’_

“Mimi, no. Rest ‘ime.”

_‘Kweh!’_

“Just…Just a bit–”

The bird call goes off for a third time before he processes that it’s not her, but rather the phone that is, in fact,  _calling_. He wants it to stop, wants to just ignore the disruptive noise, but a nagging, insistent voice in the back of his mind tells him that he  _needs_  to answer it.

_“Prompto, is everything alright on your end?”_  Ignis sounds concerned, which is weird because he hasn’t said anything yet. Had he just tried calling the one time? He doesn’t remember. It takes him too long to come up with a summary that’ll satisfy the Advisor before he’s asked again, more firmly in that Ignis-means-business tone.

“….n-no.” Prompto settles for the stutter of a word, and it does nothing to placate the man.

_“Prompto, I need you to keep talking–tell me what you see?_ ” He vaguely wonders how much Ignis deciphered from the answer, because he sounds kinda upset, a very unlike Ignis thing to be.

“Trees…” He tries to be helpful, he really does. He’s seen enough trees to last a lifetime–one that might end here.

_“We’re getting in the Regalia now, I’m passing you over to Noct.”_ Something is added after that during the switch, and he stops himself from dropping the phone when his grip slackens for a moment.

_“Prompto? Buddy, Prompto, you still there?”_  Noct is really worried, too, and Prompto tries to think of what he did wrong this time to warrant such a reaction. He was doing so good…wasn’t he? Man, they’re gonna be real mad when they find him and Gladio. Oh, right.

“‘e’s not ‘wakin’.” He slurs, chin bobbing forward as the leaves on the trees before him swirl like some sort of hypnotic trance. That’s weird, too, he’s sure that’s not normal, eyes becoming harder to keep open after every slow blink. The insistent tiny voice warns that if he closes them, there’s a good chance it’ll be the last time he does.

_“Who? You mean Gladio? Is he there, Prom?”_

He’s so tired.

“N–Noct…”

His eyelids are so heavy.

_“Yeah, Prom? What is it? I’m listening. We’re on our way to–”_

Just…Just for a little bit.

“Sorry ‘m dyin’.”

The phone slips out of his limp hand.

* * *

He’s dead for the longest ten minutes of Noct’s life.

He counts every second of silence, begs for Prompto to say something every five.

Noct’s ready to see if he can’t just warp through the damn device when finally, finally, after the longest six hundred seconds, there’s that sleepy little dazed grumble of a groan.

_“Hmmnhhh? Oh hey, Noct, s–sorry must’ve dozed off.”_

“Th–That’s okay, buddy, you’re awake now.” It’s more okay than Prompto’ll ever know as even Ignis breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Prompto, what is your condition?” The phone’s on speaker now, Noct holding it out between them as Ignis drives just over the speed limit. His gaze occasionally flickers over at the navigation screen’s tracking icons, not closing in fast enough.

_“Dunno. ‘s’lot o’ blood.”_  A sharp intake of breath, followed by a whimper as if seeing it for the first time.

“Where’s the blood, Prompto?” A moment passes as if he needs to think about it, or worse that he’s about to pass out again.

_“My hands.”_

“And where else?” Ignis is going to strangle him with his own, out of frustrated love for this idiotic child. Noct is fidgeting in the passenger seat, torn between staring worryingly at the phone and glancing out the window as if Prompto will be in sight.

_“Oh—oh my stomach.”_  And it’s like Prompto’s struck Noct there, face paling as he almost drops the device.

“How deep is it?” Noctis all but blurts out, panic unleashed and contagious through the line as the gunner immediately cries out that he doesn’t want to look. Ignis wants to chide him for putting Prompto in distress, the last thing he needs in his clearly bad state, but can’t bring himself to. Prompto is the main focus, best to keep calm.

“Okay, Prompto, can you put pressure on it just in case?” Prompto, bless his large heart, completely trusts Ignis to do it, that the Advisor would never do anything to hurt the blond–at least intentionally.

But this  _hurts_. He whines, tears practically streaming out of his quivering voice as he asks why Ignis would make him do that. But he’s so eager to please as always that he keeps them there when Ignis scolds that he better still be holding down on the inferno of a gash. The whimpering dies down suddenly, and something rustles by wherever Prompto dropped his phone, followed by a solid weight hitting the ground.

_“Prompto? What the fuck–”_  The gruff voice of Gladiolus rumbles through, deep tone subtly higher with barely concealed terror.  _“Shit, oh shit. C’mon, kid. Talk to me.”_

“Gladio? Gladio, we’re almost there–how is he? Gladio?” It’s a tie between the Regalia’s two occupants to try and get the Shield’s attention drawn away from the blond enough to notice his phone. The swordsman does, long enough to inform them that the cut isn’t deep, but Prompto’s burning one hell of a fever.

And he hangs up.

* * *

“Ngh, Gl–Gladio…?” Prompto’s got his eyes open just a sliver and hardly much more, voice but a rasp as he lets out a harsh choke of a sob at Gladio inspecting the injury beneath his shirt. He feels like shit, and by the way Gladio looks at him, he knows he must look it.

Gladio presses a large palm against his sweaty forehead and swears at how scorching hot he is. That can’t be right, because Prompto’s sure he’s chilled to the bone, numb and shivering beneath the cool rain. His words aren’t working correctly, trying to say that he’s  _cold_ , and the next thing he knows is Gladio’s lost the jacket and it’s draped over him before being pulled against his side. There’s a surprise grunt as something’s taken out of Prompto’s pocket, brain too mudded to think of what it is, but Gladio sounds impressed, and that’s good enough for him. A flash of gold walks across his vision, briefly taking it as the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel, before nuzzling against his other side with a tender trill, and that’s kinda comforting, too.

“You’ve got the best bird, you know that?”

Yeah, he sure does.

* * *

Noct has never warped so fast in his life, pushing through stasis that’ll likely kill him in the morning, but he doesn’t care as he charges forward, Ignis just barely keeping pace.

Prompto doesn’t know just how close he was to making it to the roadside. It’s one of too few strokes of luck as in five minutes they pick out Mico’s brilliant gilded feathers amongst muddy brown and emerald green. The chocobo perks up with a shrill ‘kweh’, alerting her wards as Gladio joins in on shouting their location.

Mico hisses, however, when Noct materializes out of nowhere in a blue flash, completely breathless as he crushes both elixir and antidote vials over Prompto’s wound. He finally breaths again when Prompto’s body loses all fevered tension, pained face softening in safe unconsciousness. Color returns to freckled cheeks, and he’s hit with a strong urge to kiss each and every one when Ignis hums over his shoulder.

“Yes, he seems to be out of any immediate danger.” The Advisor probes the healing scars, only a hint of exhaustion peeking through his calm persona. His attention shifts to Gladio, tenderly cupping the battered man’s face as he retrieves an elixir of his own. “It would appear you weren’t spared, either. These cuts look rather serious.”

“Nah, they’re just scratches. Gimme a potion, Specs, don’t waste that on me.”

“It is  _never_ a waste, Gladio.” And that’s the end of that. Ignis assists him to his feet after Noct shifts Prompto so the blond lies across his own lap, head lolling back against his neck. Mico prances in place, all nervous energy and anxious warbling noises. “It’d be best for you to carry him, Gladio.”

“Yeah, I owe the kid more than that.” The Shield complies without further argument, Noct’s touch lingering on Prompto until he’s settled as comfortably as possible in the sturdy arms. The chocobo hovers close, practically melding to the Shield like a second shadow and he reaches a hand to stroke the honey feathers. “I owe you, too. Guess I underestimated the both of ya.”

“You think?” Noctis quips that while true, is ignored as Ignis suggests they get out of the blasted rain and make way for the nearest haven. They haven’t the heart to dismiss Mico away, and she certainly can’t fit in the Regalia, after all.

* * *

There’s two things that Prompto loves more than anything. Well, he loves a great many things, like sunrises and photography and green soup curry and positive attention–, but these are his top two that are right at his side when he wakes up.

It’s not the safety of being curled up in his sleeping bag, not the blessed dryness after hours drenched in the rain. Not even the relief that he’s feeling so much better compared to the near-death experience earlier.

It’s blearily opening his eyes to Noct’s face merely inches from his own, jaw slack and drooling slightly in sleep. It’s the soft peeping noise that draws focus to his right, turning over to an abundance of sunshine fluff like that of a giant pompom. Mico stretches her neck out from beneath her wing, deciding to rest her head upon his chest with a ‘whoomph’, oblivious to the move knocking air out of his lungs as she falls back asleep. Prompto still smiles at her, limbs heavy from however long he’s been out of it as he cards a hand through the cozy down. The smile still stays as he looks back over to Noctis, uttering frightened phrases and what he swears is his name before the raven-haired boy squirms closer, reaching out as if the blond is right there.

He is, and Prompto takes his hand, visibly relaxing at the simple gesture.

Azure orbs droop shut with clinging exhaustion, but Prompto’s not afraid to drift off this time. He’s got the greatest friend, and the best chocobo that a guy could ask for looking after him.


End file.
